


You Hold My Depth of Desire

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Season/Series 07, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith's sure that Shiro's injured and hiding it. He grabs at Shiro's jacket and yanks it open, sure he'll see the bandages peeking out from under Shiro's undershirt.But that isn't what he sees. At all.





	You Hold My Depth of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Fic request from [Bianca](https://twitter.com/shiroblush), who asked for Shiro in lingerie and Keith finding out. Thank you so much and I hope you like it! 
> 
> And a huge thank you, as always, to Spooky for being a wonderful second reader (and to the gc for listening to me cry about writing as per usual).

Keith waits until the others leave the conference room before he catches Shiro by the elbow and demands, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Shiro’s surprised, a smile for Keith frozen half-formed on his mouth, arrested by the tone of Keith’s voice. “Huh?” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Keith says, and he hates how petulant he sounds, hates how he feels like he’s a little kid again, demanding to know things Shiro’s keeping from him. He softens his voice, saturated with worry: “Shiro… tell me. If you’re hurt— you need to tell me.”

Shiro, though, just frowns. “Keith. I really… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Keith stares at Shiro, as if a disapproving stare might be enough to get Shiro to relent. Maybe once, when they were younger. But Shiro is stubborn, always has been. And, Keith suspects, likely always will be.

But Keith can be just as stubborn. He turns towards the door to the meeting room and says, “Override Code KK095.” 

The door’s lock slides into place with a definitive clamping sound and Keith turns back towards Shiro, face set. Nobody’s getting in, not with the Black Paladin’s override in place. He just hopes Iverson doesn’t come back. A larger fear still: that Shiro’s about to walk out without telling him anything. That even after all they’ve been through, Shiro would hide this. 

Before Shiro can say anything, Keith crowds into his space and grabs at Shiro’s jacket, unbuttoning the top button. Shiro’s eyes widen dramatically. 

“Woah, Keith—!” 

“You’re injured,” Keith snaps, “and you’re trying to hide it. When did it happen?” 

Something aches, deep and twisting inside of Keith, that haunting though that Shiro would hide this from him. That Shiro wouldn’t trust him with this. He shoves that feeling back down, focusing on unbuttoning Shiro’s jacket. 

“What?” Shiro says, stunned enough that he doesn’t fight Keith pawing at his buttons. “Wait. Keith, stop. I’m not injured.” 

“I felt the bandages through your jacket,” Keith says. It’d been just before the meeting, when Shiro’d pulled Keith into a warm hug, one of their usual greetings. Keith ran his hands up Shiro’s back and felt the edge of bandages through his jacket. He hadn’t been able to concentrate the entire meeting, too worried about what Shiro was hiding. What Shiro was hiding from _him._

Shiro is damnably quiet in response. Then, he chokes out Keith’s name in a pained little choking sound. “Keith—” 

But it’s too late. Keith pops the last button above Shiro’s jacket belt and then yanks it open before Shiro can stop him. He’s expecting to see Shiro’s undershirt and the bandages peeking out along the hem. 

That isn’t what he sees. 

There’s nothing underneath Shiro’s uniform jacket except for— white lace. 

Keith isn’t entirely sure how to react to this, so he ends up just standing there stupidly, his hands gripping Shiro’s lapels and holding his jacket open to his inspection. The white lace stretches tight over Shiro’s chest and Keith can see his nipples underneath the twining lace pattern. It hardly covers anything. Keith stares. 

Keith can tell Shiro’s holding his breath, can see the pound of Shiro’s racing heart. Keith tells himself he should let go of Shiro’s jacket and then doesn’t. He stands there, frozen and staring like a fool. 

Keith thinks, absently, as he watches Shiro’s blush flood his face and down his neck, that he never realized Shiro was a full-body blusher. 

“See?” Shiro finally manages, voice cautious and small. An attempt at a joke. “Not injured.” 

Keith manages a strung-out, ridiculous laugh, unsure how else to respond. “No. Not injured.”

He’s gone completely breathless. His knuckles strain white with his tight grip. Shiro should have shoved him away by now. He should have let go by now. Keith’s lizard brain counts the seconds lapsing into silence, the two of them just standing there, Keith gripping Shiro’s jacket and Shiro’s hands clenching the edge of the conference table where he leans back against it. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, finally. 

He should let go. He knows this. But he doesn’t. Keith watches as Shiro shifts, a little roll of his shoulder. His jacket slips open just that little bit more. Keith can’t reconcile the action, just as he can’t quite fathom the fact Shiro’s wearing lingerie. Because that’s what it is, all delicate lace and soft lines against Shiro’s scarred skin. 

“I like it,” Shiro says and maybe there’s some sort of challenge in his voice, something testing. His eyes are sharp when Keith looks up and locks eyes with him. 

“Okay,” Keith answers. He doesn’t break his eyes away. 

And just like that, something eases in Shiro’s eyes. He leans back a little, ducking his head to glance down at himself. There’s— _something_ about that that makes Keith swallow thick. His hands slide down the lapels of Shiro’s jacket until he hits the jacket’s belt. He’s only half aware he’s undoing it, lets it unbuckle and fall away so he can open the jacket the whole way, exposing Shiro’s chest and stomach properly. The little heave of his belly, the swell of his chest. It feels necessary. Keith _needs_ to see it. 

Shiro doesn’t shy away and so Keith takes that moment, studies him, lets his eyes drag. 

“You know I don’t like the scars,” Shiro says, after a moment. “This… it helps.” 

Keith wants to tell Shiro that he doesn’t need to explain himself. He wants to tell him he’s beautiful, has always been breathtakingly beautiful. He clamps down on those words, though— he’s too used to leaving such thoughts unexpressed. He does manage a little nod, though, eyes on the way the lace cups Shiro’s pecs, the way his nipples press up against its delicate design. Keith traces the scalloped edges, the little circle stamped out of the lace at the center of its design, the ivied straps. 

Keith drinks him in, hands on his jacket still, staring at his chest. “I,” Keith begins, and pauses. “Um. Sorry I undressed you?” 

Shiro breathes out an embarrassed laugh. They’re both blushing intensely. Embarrassment now— it’s silly. It’s stupid. Keith, as always, jumped in headfirst without considering the consequences. But Shiro is beautiful— in lace, his uniform coat hanging off his shoulders, threatening to slip into the well of his elbows. His stomach quivers a little, his chest rising and falling with his breath. Keith’s painfully aware of every little move that Shiro makes. 

“It’s alright, Keith,” Shiro says, because he’s generous. 

Keith’s aware, too, of how hard he’s getting. The situation is embarrassing enough without that, too. He tries to shift, tries to be subtle, but he’s the opposite of it, apparently, because Shiro’s eyes drop and immediately go straight to Keith’s crotch— the outline of his dick pressing against his trousers.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers, a small exhalation. Genuinely surprised. Shiro shifts back so he’s sitting on the conference table rather than leaning against it, his expression assessing. 

Keith freezes up. He tries to think of anything _other_ than Shiro in lingerie to will his half-erection back down. Nothing works. His eyes stray to the lace. 

They’re at a crossroads. It’d be easy enough to turn away, let Shiro adjust himself. To will his erection back down. To walk out the door and pretend none of this had happened. It’d be simple. They’re friends. Best friends, even. It’d be maybe a little awkward at first, but they’d get past it. Keith values Shiro too much to let their friendship be ruined because he got hard thinking about his best friend in lingerie. If they can survive all the other shit they’ve been through, they can survive this, too. 

Shiro hasn’t taken his eyes off Keith. His eyes are dark, thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything and Keith’s aware, distantly, that Shiro might be waiting, too. Keith breathes in and holds his breath. 

Shiro’s eyelids dip, just a little, his eyelashes fanning out as he glances away, an expression that’s almost demure but not quite flickering across his face. Almost coy. He takes a breath. 

Then all he says is, “It’s a set, you know.” 

Keith’s entire body sets on fire. His eyes drop before he can question it, and for the first time he realizes that Shiro’s hard, too. He can see the curve of his cock pressing against his trousers. Keith’s mouth goes dry. 

“Yeah?” he whispers. His throat is all closed up, full of cotton. 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. He glances back at Keith again, his gaze snagging on his and holding. Keith watches, his entire face burning, as Shiro almost licks his lips and seems aware he’s doing it and stops, mid stroke. He blinks once, cheeks flushed. “I’ve…” Shiro starts and pauses, considering. “I’ve never shown this to anyone before.” 

Keith’s hand falls to Shiro’s thigh and he steps closer. Instinctively, Shiro’s legs spread to make room for him. He feels Shiro’s muscle flex beneath his palm. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, but can’t manage any other words past that. _Tell me to stop,_ maybe. _Tell me you want me. Tell me it’s not just me._

Keith’s always been ready, always one step away from charging forward past that crossroads, flying straight into Shiro’s arms— if there was ever an indication that Shiro would catch him, too. He’s always been ready to leap and ask questions later. 

Keith’s hand on Shiro slides, slow and purposeful, up his thigh. Shiro doesn’t move away, doesn’t push him away. His eyes are dark and on Keith alone. 

Keith takes a deep breath and presses into his space. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Keith announces, and then cringes at how childish he sounds. Shiro laughs, though, his expression softening in a way that immediately eases Keith’s nerves. 

“Okay,” Shiro says. He smiles. “Please.” 

Keith’s heart leaps into his throat and his hand flexes against Shiro’s thigh and then he leans in, kissing Shiro hard. He wants to ask what this means, but he doesn’t have the courage to, doesn’t want to question that permission. He presses close and kisses Shiro with every ounce of enthusiasm that he has. 

He’s uncertain at first, pressing his mouth to Shiro’s, but then Shiro sighs and opens to him and that’s— everything. Keith lets out a breath and slides his mouth against Shiro’s, lets his body sing like that, his hands touching Shiro’s chest, palms against his chest. The lace is whisper-soft and he feels the swell of Shiro’s breath in his lungs as he presses against Keith. 

Shiro lays worship to his mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, sweeping into his mouth and holding him close there, stealing every breath, the small hitch of an almost-moan that Keith only just manages to hold back. It’s everything he imagined kissing Shiro would be and more. His heart thunders. He’s burning up. 

When he pulls away, Shiro’s smiling, lips parted and eyes bright. Keith wants to ask about that, too, wants to ask what it means that getting kissed by Keith could leave him looking so damn happy. 

But Shiro’s hand lifts and cups Keith’s chin before he can pull back, his grip firm enough to guide him back. Commanding. His thumb presses against Keith’s jaw as he kisses him, slow and promising. Keith’s toes curl in his boots. 

“I want…” Keith starts, gulping down air, unable to form the words. 

“Tell me,” Shiro whispers against his mouth, teeth dragging over the swell of his bottom lip.

“To see you.” 

Shiro leans back, smiling. He balances his weight on his hands behind him. “Go on, then.” 

And then he lifts his leg, presenting his boot to Keith. It’s just about the hottest fucking thing Keith’s ever seen and he scrambles his hands up to grab at Shiro’s ankle and tugging off first one boot and then, once Shiro lifts his foot up, the other. Keith crowds into his space and reaches for Shiro’s trousers, fiddling with his belt. Shiro watches him, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. 

“Go slow,” Shiro tells him when Keith hooks his fingers in the waistband of Shiro’s trousers. Keith looks up at him but Shiro just smiles and lifts his hips. 

Keith peels the trousers down, revealing the matching panties to the bralette and, he realizes with a little gasp, the white thigh-high stockings. 

“Fuck, Shiro.” 

Shiro preens. Keith marvels at that, the way Shiro lets Keith look, the way he leans back, hair in his eyes, his legs parted for Keith. 

He can’t tear his eyes away, staring at the swell of Shiro’s cock pressing against the lace. He can _see_ it. The lace hides nothing. The panties hug his hips and the line of his cock is obvious, the tip nearly peeking out of the side. Keith’s always known Shiro tucks left— hard not to notice, really— but now it’s all the more obvious. 

“Like it?” Shiro asks, and there’s the slightest note of shyness there that makes Keith look up at him. 

Shiro’s watching him, eyes soft, face flushed. He’s studying Keith’s face and something lurches up in Keith’s chest. He wants to put voice to every thought he’s ever held about Shiro— his strength, his smile, every little moment where he’s ever casually devastated Keith by simply existing. By being here, smiling and alive and thriving. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, hushed, and it’s inadequate, it’s not enough. He slides into Shiro’s space, planting his knee on the table and hitching himself up, leaning in to touch his chest and then the back of his neck, tugging him in. “Shiro… You’re beautiful.” 

He says it against Shiro’s mouth, kisses him hard, grips him tight. Tracing his hand over Shiro’s stomach, the line of lace, he pushes Shiro down onto his back and crawls up after him. He drags his fingers along the line of the lace, slips underneath to thumb at one of his nipples, swallows Shiro’s soft sound. 

Keith’s hand skims over Shiro’s chest, his stomach. He feels Shiro press up against him as Keith’s fingers trace the line of the panties. He swallows thickly and nuzzles at Shiro’s cheek, kissing over his jaw. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Keith says, voice husky deep. 

He wishes more now that they were tucked away, in Shiro’s room maybe, where Keith could finger himself open and ride Shiro like this, feeling the lace pressing against him with each upstroke. Or pulling the lace aside and fucking into Shiro, feeling his legs wrap tight around Keith’s waits and holding him there until he empties inside of him. He wants everything. 

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, breathless. 

Keith sits up again and starts unbuttoning his uniform. Shiro watches him but lifts his hands and stops him before Keith can shrug out of the uniform.

“Um,” Shiro says, cheeks burning. “Leave it on?” 

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Keith says, because he’s an idiot. He grins, bubbly and nervous and ecstatic. 

Shiro laughs. He tugs Keith down by his jacket and kisses him, sloppy and dirty. Keith groans and then keens when Shiro undoes his belt for him and pulls at the zip, palming at his cock through his trousers and briefs. 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith whimpers. He rocks up against Shiro’s hand, desperate.

Shiro’s spread out on the table, uniform coat sprawled out beneath him as he breathes out a heavy breath, chest heaving. He’s beautiful and flushed and Keith just wants to drink his fill. He wants to worship every inch of Shiro, take his time pressing his mouth to each scar, to take his cock in his mouth and hold him there, to lick into him until Shiro’s sobbing, until Shiro knows just how beautiful and fucking _perfect_ he is. 

“You’re so hard,” Shiro says, palming Keith’s cock and smiling in a way that’s almost smug. A smile that says, _I did that._ And the truth is that he _did_. Shiro’s been the source of Keith’s wet dreams for the better part a decade now, space whale time included, and definitely a source of masturbatory fantasies. The real thing is nothing like it. Never did Keith imagine fucking Shiro on the conference room table, sprawled out in lingerie. 

He hops off the table, though, and hooks his hands under Shiro’s knees and yanks, pulling him across the surface so his ass is up against the edge.

“Keith!” Shiro squawks in surprise and then turns pink. He grins. “Wow.” 

Keith grins back, helpless, and squeezes the backs of his thighs, lifting his legs up. He watches in fascinating as Shiro’s cock twitches inside the panties. 

“So I… I shouldn’t just rip these off you,” Keith says, eyes on Shiro’s cock, the darker wet spot in the lace where Shiro’s cock leaks precome. 

“These weren’t cheap, so you better not ruin them,” Shiro answers, and laughs to show he’s joking. But even then, it’s only a half-joke. Shiro’s right to warn Keith. He can probably sense that Keith’s half a move away from ripping that lace right off Shiro if it means unrestricted access to fucking him. 

Instead, Keith is gentle as he runs his hands over Shiro’s thighs and then lifts them. He drapes them over his shoulders as he ducks down and nuzzles at Shiro’s cock, mouthing at the lace. He can taste and smell him, even through the pristine white lace, and he mouths first at Shiro’s balls and then the underside of his cock, following the line of it, suckling at the head through the fabric. 

Shiro moans appreciatively and one hand curls tight in Keith’s hair. His jacket slips off one shoulder, pooling at his elbow, and his fingers are tight in his hair, and he’s so handsome it’s devastating. The lace is soft under his tongue and Shiro’s cock twitches against him as he explores. Instinct fuels him onward and he feels the shift of Shiro’s thighs against his shoulders, the taste of his cock against his tongue, the hitch in Shiro’s breathing. He’ll figure it out. 

He pulls back enough to get his fingers hooked in the panties, tugging it down enough to get his hand around Shiro’s cock, guiding it up so it presses flush against Shiro’s belly. He hears Shiro sigh as Keith drags his fingers over him and Keith chases that sound, mouths at the base of his cock still covered by the panties and working his way up, curling his mouth around him, pillowing his lips at the cockhead, tongue lapping at the slit. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, encouraging, his fingers tight in Keith’s hair. 

Keith could spend the rest of his life just mouthing at Shiro’s cock, studying its every inch. It’s perfect. Thick against Keith’s hand, long and slick against Shiro’s stomach, half-encased by the lingerie. Keith suckles at the cockhead and feels blissed out just from that, just from the taste of Shiro heavy on his tongue. He wants to choke on him. He wants Shiro to grab him with both hands and fuck into his mouth. 

He presses Shiro’s legs up further and Shiro obliges, arches his back, rolls his hips back. Keith drags his mouth over the lace, tongues at his balls, his thumb pressing against the crown of his cock. Shiro moans out his encouragement and shifts back further and that’s when Keith sees more of Shiro and—

He gasps. His fingers drag over Shiro’s cock, then down behind his balls, feeling at the spot where the lace simply _isn’t._

“You noticed that, huh?” Shiro asks, and he’s so breathless, he sounds wrecked. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, helplessly. He pulls back, lets Shiro’s legs drop from his shoulders. He blinks at him, owlish and longing. “Shiro.” 

He pulls on Shiro’s legs, nearly pulls him off the table entirely in his eagerness. But Shiro laughs, looks just as eager as he edges himself off the table, getting to his feet. He’s shaky for a moment and Keith reaches to steady him. 

“Turn around,” Keith demands. 

Instead of obeying him, Shiro cups Keith’s chin again and tilts his head up, kissing him torturously slow. As payback, Keith starts palming at his cock again, sliding his fingers over the swell of Shiro’s cock and swallowing his pleased moan. It’s hardly a punishment. 

When Shiro does turn around, though, he takes his time and his jacket covers everything. Keith’s about to reach to yank it right off him, but Shiro just glances over his shoulder at him, looking pleased, and lets it slip down. He exposes his back in increments, the criss-cross lace straps over his shoulder blades that Keith confused for bandages earlier, then over the dip of his lower back and lower. He lets the jacket fall away, sliding right off him and it lands in a puddle of fabric at his feet. 

There’s a hole in the seat of the panties, exposing him. It’s purposeful. Keith’s going to die. 

Worst, still, is when Shiro, looking overly pleased with himself, just plants his hands on the table and leans forward, his body arching. Keith can only stare helplessly. 

“Well?” Shiro asks him, and there’s laughter in his voice. He looks so happy, not guarded or uncertain or embarrassed anymore. Just happy to see Keith. 

And Keith can do nothing but fall to his knees, hands on Shiro’s ass. He presses in and licks over his hole. 

Shiro gasps, loud and rattling, taken aback. “Keith!” 

He can’t fuck Shiro here the way he wants to, not here in a conference room, but that doesn’t matter. He sucks at Shiro’s hole, tongue pressing against him and then lapping. He runs one hand down Shiro’s thigh, feels the soft silk of the stocking, presses his hand hard against the side of his thigh to get Shiro to spread his legs wider. He feels Shiro gasp, drop down onto his elbows on the table and widen his stance, opening himself up to Keith.

And Keith focuses on just making him shout, all moans and gasps. He wants to see how loud he can get. How loud Keith can make him. He licks and sucks at Shiro’s rim, presses his tongue in, strokes over him with his fingertips. He laps at his hole and manages to get one finger into him, lapping and curling his tongue, and Keith keeps hearing Shiro call his name, praise and shuddering desire. It’s so much. He squeezes the back of Shiro’s thigh, lifts his hand to palm at his ass, tug at the lace there. 

He feels Shiro tense up, feels the flex of his thigh beneath his palm, the tense of his body around Keith’s finger and tongue. He hears Shiro’s gasp, a startled choke of Keith’s name, and then knows he’s coming. Keith only regrets that he doesn’t get to see his face as he does it, but can feel the power that shudders through Shiro. 

He waits until Shiro’s done rolling his hips forward, milking himself, before he withdraws enough to stand, already trying to imagine how long it’ll take before Shiro lets him finger him again, already desperate to do it again, already terrified there won’t be a next time, beyond the walls of this conference room. 

He stands on shaky feet, his hands touching his hips. 

“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning over him and nosing into Shiro’s hair. 

Shiro sighs and his hand comes out from beneath him shiny, slick with his come, and Keith’s heart stutters up into his throat at realizing that Shiro just came, Shiro just came because of him. He watches in a stunned silence as Shiro’s hand closes around Keith’s cock and slicks him up, pulling long strokes over his cock, coaxing him closer. 

“Come on,” Shiro whispers, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Come on me.” 

“I’ll… I’ll ruin them,” Keith protests, already pressing up against Shiro, draping himself over the line of his body. He curls one arm tight around Shiro’s waist, pressing his entire body to him. 

“Want to feel you come,” is all Shiro says, eyes shut and looking blissed out, his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He’s never looked so beautiful. Keith’s a little obsessed with how Shiro looks post-orgasm, all flushed and smiling and bright-eyed and relaxed beneath him, pliant and wriggling his hips back to nudge Keith’s cock against his ass. 

Keith hardly needs the coaxing. He’s painfully close as it is, on edge and shaking. He shivers as his body presses to Shiro, as his cock slides against Shiro’s hole without pressing in, sliding against his ass instead. He feels the drag of the soft lace against his body, the sliding feeling of Shiro’s skin, spit-slick from Keith’s mouth and Shiro’s come. Keith bites his lip, grunting and moaning out when he feels Shiro shift back against him. 

He palms at Shiro’s stomach, moves down to cup Shiro through the panties. He’s soft but his cock gives a little twitch at the attention and Shiro lets out something akin to a whimper as he rocks against Keith. Shiro’s hand scrambles and catches at Keith’s hip, fisting in the fabric of Keith’s clothes. 

It takes only a few thrusts of Keith’s hips before he’s coming over Shiro’s ass. He tries not to hit the lace, despite Shiro’s permission. 

When he’s finished, he drops down again and licks over Shiro, cleaning him. Shiro gasps and shudders, but waits until Keith’s finished before twisting around, grabbing Keith and hauling him up onto the table. He presses in, kissing him hard. Keith whimpers, arms and legs curling around Shiro, holding him close. His body feels wrung out in the best way, but already he can feel his cock stirring, ready to go again. And again. 

“Shiro,” he whispers against Shiro’s mouth, clinging to him. He feels Shiro’s little smile against Keith’s mouth, something that’s almost shy. Private. Only Keith’s. 

They pull away, looking at each other. Keith tips forward, their foreheads pressing together, and Shiro’s smile turns downright soft, indulgent and sweet. Keith knows he’s mimicking that expression. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” Shiro answers, holding back a laugh. 

They linger like that, long enough that Keith starts to hope there will be a next time. He pulls back and hops off the table to pick up Shiro’s clothes for him, straying the few feet away necessary to pick up a wayward boot. 

“Guess I ruined it after all,” Keith thinks. There are places where the lace seems a little stretched out, and he knows there has to be some come still left on the other side. 

He turns back to find Shiro leaning back against the table, watching him. Shiro watches him and Keith knows he’s trying to sound innocent, but he just looks unbearably smug when he says, “This isn’t my only pair.”

“What?” Keith asks, gapes.

Shiro shrugs. “I have other sets.” His eyebrows lift and this time, he does smirk, fingers hooking in the edge of one stocking and tugging it back up his thigh, an absentminded gesture that’s entirely calculated. He looks at Keith through his lashes. “Want me to show you them?” 

Keith really, really does.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>  **ETA:** Thank you so much to the generous, wonderful artists who drew fanart for this story omg!!
> 
> \- [CruelisBlue](https://twitter.com/CruelisB/status/1104142633008545794)  
> \- [Ailurea](https://twitter.com/ailurea/status/1108964149285937152)
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